


Delirium

by DevilOfWire



Series: DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2019 [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Begging, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Cock Slut, Creampie, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2019, Light BDSM, M/M, Medical Device, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Play, One Shot, Roleplay, Smut, Spanking, Speculum, Top John Watson, Wet & Messy, ass worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: 2. Ass Worship | Begging | Medical Play |WatersportsBefore, John Watson had been a physician. Now, Sherlock Holmes asks for a check-up despite being in perfectly sound health. John expertly deduces that that can only mean one thing, and it involves a rectal thermometer, a speculum, and a lot of medical-grade petroleum jelly lube.





	Delirium

**Author's Note:**

> **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Second day for Kinktober 2019! 
> 
> This is meant to be set in the late 1800s/early 1900s but you can't really tell at all, lol. Also, it gets pretty ridiculous… 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

Sherlock's eyes glance about the room, quickly taking in the wooden table adorned with various medical supplies and the leather physician's chair in the centre, eyeing the abstract paintings on the walls and the newly installed ceiling lamp.

"Really?" he asks, turning around with lowered lids and a sour lip. "You really think you'll play doctor and I'll let you fuck me in that chair?"

John shifts his feet, frowning. "What, I thought this was what you wanted!"

Sherlock scoffs, closing the door behind them. "Well, of course it was, but I didn't expect you to actually do it." He steps up to the table, looking at the various instruments upon it: innocuous tools such as a stethoscope, reflex hammer, sphygmomanometer, so on. The more interesting tools that caught Sherlock's eye were a thermometer, a speculum, and a bottle of petroleum jelly lubricant. "Have you ever known a physician who's fucked their patient?"

John gasps. "Of course not! That's highly illegal, and one would be made a laughingstock of the entire medical community, both local and otherwise."

"Correct. But only, dear Watson, if one is _ caught. _Haven't you ever imagined what goes on behind those closed white doors at the facilities you worked at, what affairs might be taking place?"

"No, Sherlock, that's all highly unlikely!"

"Perhaps, but we see unlikely things every day, don't we?" Sherlock says, referencing the serial homicide cases they'd been dealing with months ago, the interesting ones all seeming to have dried up since they caught the culprit. Almost makes one consider whether they should perhaps have some "problems" for the next interesting case… _ almost. _"And how could one not get aroused, even slightly, when they see a charming young man or woman stroll into their office, into their exam room alone, getting undressed and then having to be inspected, top to bottom?"

"It's quite easy, just distancing yourself from work."

Sherlock chuckles. "I hardly know what that statement even means." He opens his hands to John. "Anyway, do get on with the show, _ Dr _ Watson. I'm quite im _ patient." _ Sherlock peeks an eye open, spying John rolling his eyes at the pun.

"Alright," John says, taking on a more formal tone and straightening himself, gesturing to the chair in the middle, "take a seat right there, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock does so, leaning back into the chair and finding it softer than expected, probably worn and thrown out so John could snap it up for an exclusive deal.

"Now, what seems to be the matter?"

"Well, Dr Watson," Sherlock begins, "it's just that I have a pain… in my lower abdomen," he gestures vaguely, "I'm not entirely sure why; I've done nothing special over the past few weeks, quite _ boring, _ actually."

John struggles to contain shaking his head but manages to keep a straight face. "Odd, but I'm sure we'll figure it out together. First, I'd like to check your vital signs for indications of illness or injury, Mr Holmes, so please just remain still for me."

He leans forward over his patient in the chair, putting the back of his hand to his forehead to feel for a temperature, moving it slightly this way and that. It does feel a bit warm but perhaps it was just the cooler air of this renovated room. He visually inspects his patient's face and scans his body, clicking his tongue as he finds nothing immediately off.

"Well, Mr Holmes, I believe you _ might _ have a bit of a temperature, so are you feeling hot or delirious at all?"

Sherlock's eyes widen just the slightest bit, a twinkle in them. "Oh, yes, now that you mention it, I really am." He reaches for his collar and stretches it a few times. "It's quite warm all of a sudden, and I feel a bit funny."

"How so?"

"I'm not really feeling all that proper. My mind feels somewhat… fuzzy, uncoordinated. I apologise for anything I might do, Dr Watson: normally I think much clearer than this."

"It's quite alright, sir." John takes a step towards the end of the chair. "I'm just going to check more of your vitals for now, test for heart rate and whatnot."

He takes Sherlock's bony wrist within his calloused palm, shifting his fingers until he finds the pulse of his veins in the centre. They remain still for a few seconds, just the sounds of Sherlock's abnormally loud breathing filling the void, while John counts in his head the beats and takes note of how strong they are.

"Hm," the doctor says, "quite fast, actually."

"Oh no," Sherlock comments, "perhaps you should check again?" He points to his neck. "Just in case?"

John lets go of Sherlock's hand, moving to the skin of his neck just below his chin to feel the unmistakable flow of blood through his carotid artery. Sherlock visibly shudders beneath him, closing his eyes in something he would almost call bliss if he were not his patient. Probably just a chill.

After a few beats, John pulls back. "Still fast, I'm afraid. Fast and hard."

Sherlock tuts, his face seeming to flush slowly as John watches it. "Oh, that's not good, is it?" He fans his burning face with a hand. "God, Doctor, I'm becoming quite hot, almost unbearably so."

John raises a brow, for the room felt more on the chilly side to him, but draws it up to the possible fever his patient was experiencing. "Well," he says, "I am going to have to inspect you more thoroughly, especially considering your apparent abdominal pain, so you will have to remove your attire at some point. You're free to do so, if it might help the heat."

John turns towards the door, beginning to make a move out of it to give his patient some much-needed privacy but a frantic voice stops him.

"Oh, Dr Watson, I'm not sure I should be left alone by myself in here, even for just a second. I feel as if I might faint, honestly!"

"Really?"

"Yes! I-I actually am not even sure if I should stand, I'm becoming so dizzy." His patient heaves a pained sigh. "But I also am so damned hot under all these clothes, I don't know what to do!"

The doctor walks back to him and places a reassuring, if all too familiar hand upon his shoulder. "It's quite alright, sir. Let me just undress you for you, it will take but a second."

And so he moves to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, his patient making laboured breaths which border on pants, shifting restlessly on the seat. He quickly slides the article off with the assistance of his poor patient, leaving him topless in the exam room now.

John waves ever-so-slightly to Sherlock's crotch, muttering, "Would you like me to–"

"Yes! Er–yes, please, Doctor. My fingers feel clammy and numb to me, I really don't think I can do it."

So the physician draws a breath and, with hands suddenly warm with sweat, moves towards Sherlock's pants to undo the buttons there, doing his very best to ignore the erection obvious beneath the material—that's what a professional would do, anyway.

He moves the cloth under the rear of his patient with some assistance, pulling it off his long legs and half-heartedly tossing them to a chair at the side of the room.

"Now," John says, voice hoarse and so he clears it, "now, Mr Holmes, I am going to do a full-body inspection. I will try to make it quick but I'm just going to assess if you have any obvious issues readily apparent."

Sherlock nods weakly, tossing his head to the side as sweat began to bead on his forehead, John leaning forwards to wipe it away as he felt his temperature again. God, now it actually does feel quite hot, is Sherlock actually sick? He certainly is acting like it.

But John continues onwards, taking his hands and moving them quickly over the brow bone and cheeks of his patient, down to his chin, just looking out for any malformations or oddities. Beneath his fingers, Sherlock lets loose strangled breaths beginning to sound like groans, either of pain or pleasure, John of course wouldn't know.

He moves his hands to beneath his jaw, roaming down his neck which beats even stronger, faster than before, beginning to legitimately worry the doctor. He forces himself not to break the act, though, and simply goes lower, past the collarbone, touching the arms shoulder to fingertip in a second before moving back to the torso to slide his fingers from pectoralis to waist to hip, remaining mostly upon the sides, and again doing his best to not stare at the straining bulge hidden away in his patient's boxers.

He swallows hard, going down Sherlock's legs until he finally reaches the floor, having found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. No bumps, no protrusions, no cuts, no bruises, nothing.

"D-doctor," Sherlock strains through closed eyes, "is there anything wrong with me?"

"Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—no. But, certainly, there must be something amiss, and I believe we had better hurry and find out what that is before it gets worse, yes, Mr Holmes?"

"Oh, yes," Sherlock says, "Hurry, hurry, hurry–I'm feeling light-headed, Dr Watson."

John gulps, beginning to sweat himself just from sheer arousal as he realises his next move, already walking over to the wooden table at the side of the room. "I'm going to need to actually record your temperature, Mr Holmes. The most accurate way to do so is to use a, erm, a rectal thermometer, unfortunately, but if you're not comfortable with that I–"

"No! I'm quite alright with that!"

"Well, alright then," John says, grabbing the mercury thermometer and the petroleum medicinal lubrication off of the table and walking back towards his sweating patient, setting the instruments down on a metal table connected to the chair, "so, I am going to need to remove your undergarments, if you don't mind, sir."

"Quite alright," Sherlock sighs, practically moaning.

John, with shaking fingers, reaches to the elastic waistband and stretches it out. Now, Sherlock really does _ moan, _bucking his hips and shifting his ass on the chair, both helping and hurting John in his efforts to remove the garment. John, with wide eyes, notes the dark patch at the centre of the underwear, right where Sherlock's cockslit would be, just the slightest bit but visible. It's precum.

With great difficulty, John slides the boxers downward, finding it impossible to tear his eyes away from Sherlock's springing cock as it jumps out of its confines readily, fully hard and beading a clear substance at the end, twitching as John continues to stare at it silently.

The doctor gulps and closes his eyes shut so he can remove his underwear the rest of the way, doing away with it the same as the pants.

"Er, n-now, Mr Holmes, I will need to prepare you for the thermometer. I don't always do this but I figure for a slighter man such as yourself, it would be better safe than sorry and having you get hurt, right?"

"Whatever you need to do to make me feel better, Doctor."

John tears open a box of sterile gloves, finding it hard to equip them what with the sweat coating his hands but manages to eventually as his patient continues to writhe, cock twitching freely and wetting his stomach. He grabs the bottle of lubricant and spreads some on his gloved index finger, coating it generously up to the knuckle.

"Now," John says as he softly touches Sherlock's leg, making him jump anyway before his patient spreads them quite willingly, "do tell me if it feels uncomfortable at all."

"Uh-huh," Sherlock hums, letting loose breaths of pure ecstasy as his burning flesh is soothed by soft fingertips spreading his cheeks.

John tries to ignore the moans so he can focus on finding Sherlock's dusky hole, circling it ever-so-gently with his lubed finger to wet it and prepare it for more. It clenches and unclenches, winks at him, and John realises that it's already stretched out, already loosened slightly, tiny strings of lube dripping from it and what little he can see of its pink insides.

Fuck, if John weren't already as hard as diamonds, he would be now.

"A-ah," he stutters, "I see you're–you've come prepared…"

"I-I tried to solve the issue myself, Doctor," Sherlock moans as John presses in easily, his one finger not much for the three he'd shoved inside of himself half an hour before, "But it just wouldn't work, you understand…"

John hums before realising he's been thrusting his finger in and out of the little hole, light squelching sounds bringing him back to reality. He quickly withdraws his finger, Sherlock's hole now resting open just the tiniest bit, glistening with lube. John is sure it's ready for a tiny little thermometer by now.

So he takes the thin instrument in his hands, leaning back down. "I'm going to insert it now, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock moans, "Oh yes!"

Taking that as consent, John inserts the metal tip effortlessly and feeds the fifteen-centimetre [six-inch] tube up Sherlock's rectum until it's at its very end, just barely poking out at its slightly more rounded, bulbous end.

"And now," the doctor says as he leans back up, "We must wait for about five minutes for it to get an accurate reading."

"F-five minutes?" Sherlock says, sounding surprised.

"Yes. But don't worry, it won't be long."

"I-I'm not sure about that."

"Well," John offers innocently, "if there's anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable, I shall."

Sherlock seems to moan quietly just from those words. "Fuck–I mean yes, yes, there is."

"What is it?" John says, leaning in.

Sherlock looks down, and, to the doctor's terror, puts his thumb and forefinger upon his own throbbing cock, moving his fingers up just a tad. "C-can you help me with this?"

"What?" John says, shocked.

Sherlock brings his hand away, puffing. "Make it go away, please. It's _ really _ bothering me," he pants, squirming his hips so his erection swings slightly up and down, leaking helplessly at its tip.

John furrows his brow but he knows how uncomfortable an unanswered, throbbing erection is, for he has one right now.

"It's highly unorthodox," he says, stooping down, applying some more lube to his entire gloved palm, "but I did say I would do anything for your comfort, Mr Holmes."

He gently takes Sherlock's cock in hand, gliding up and down it with ease as the jelly leaks down his cock.

Sherlock cries out in pleasure, arching his back into the doctor's hand, feeling the thermometer still in his ass shifting and pressing against his inner walls. "Oh _ yes!" _

The doctor slowly fists Sherlock's cock up and down, watching as it steadily beads precum from its tiny slit, the veins upon it thrumming with hot blood which he quells with his large hand, going from cockhead to base smoothly. He starts to bring his fingertips and play with the tip, watching as Sherlock throws his head back and moans again and again every time he does that, circling the slit and dragging the pre down his length to mix with the lube now coating his crotch and balls.

John tells himself he's just doing this to help the man, that he'll make him cum, his erection will disappear, and then he'll get on with the whole exam like nothing ever happened. Or perhaps he's just doing this to pass the time, the minutes melting away easily as he watches his partne–patient moan and writhe in his seat, the thermometer up his hole slipping as he clenches and unclenches, forcing John's other hand to come and push it back up.

"Fuck yes! Fuck me with it," Sherlock begs desperately.

Oh, but how could a doctor deny his patient something he needs so badly?

So John does, sliding the thermometer gently in and out, in and out, such a tiny little thing not even half the width of a finger but enough that it can be felt, can barely tease Sherlock's prostate and subsequently his cock, can draw screams from him nonetheless.

"Ah, ah, ah, I-I'm gonna cum, Joh–!"

The doctor immediately stops his actions, removing his soiled hand even as a generous spurt of precum leaks from Sherlock's delicious slit, sliding the thin, long thermometer out of his ass, leaving his patient to heave breath and wonder what the fuck is happening.

"37.0 degrees celsius," John reads. He turns on his heel to look Sherlock directly in the eye, furrowing his brow in something between fury and confusion. "Why, it's a bit on the warmer side, but otherwise, that's perfectly healthy!"

Sherlock overcomes his near-orgasm to explain, "I-it must be an internal thing, then–unrelated to the fever that's making me this way!"

The practised physician knows that makes absolutely no sense but decides to entertain Sherlock anyhow. "Well, what should we do about that, then?"

Sherlock shifts in his chair, feeling the bottom of his ass cool from the puddle of lube and his own cum he's forced to sit in. "My ass, my cheeks, they're sore. Could you please inspect them, thoroughly?"

John raises a brow sceptically but steps down anyway, lifting his patient's thighs with both hands rather easily, into the air enough that he can see the round curvature of his ass, unmarked and wonderful.

"T-touch it. It really does hurt, I swear."

So John drops a leg, letting it slam back to the leather roughly and making Sherlock cry out slightly, his cock and ass jiggling from the impact as it ripples up his skin. John uses his now free hand to roam upon his posterior, grabbing and kneading his cheek both lifted into the air and still sat on the chair, digging between his skin and the leather and feeling the humid sweat nearly glueing his flesh to the seat.

He allows his fingers to run across Sherlock's taint as well, squeezing his balls for good measure before going back down to circle his still-wet, slightly gaping hole, just barely inserting his fingernail before coyly running it away and back across the round expanse of his ass once again.

His patient is bucking his hips, squeezing the leather armrests for dear life, panting and huffing and moaning doctor, doctor, doctor, as he's just teased and never, ever given anywhere near enough.

"Please, Doctor!"

"Whatever is it, Mr Holmes? Your rear appears perfectly fine to me."

Sherlock whines, "You-you need to be rougher, I think, to get deep into my tissues where it pains me!"

John feels his lip curl despite him, taking the back of his hand and happily smacking it against the bottom of Sherlock's lovely ass, at first rather softly but increasing in severity as Sherlock's moans encourage him on. He goes from left to right to centre, smarting him on his taint up near his balls and down his crack, before he decides he's had enough fun with this particular act and ends it with a hard one right on Sherlock's dripping hole, forcing the lube inside of it to squirt out a bit everywhere, further soaking his now-sore ass.

Sherlock full-body shudders at that last one, a river of clear, shiny pre bubbling from his flushed cocktip as his other leg is dropped down with just the same carelessness.

"Hm," the doctor says, voice rough and sounding almost condescending, "I found absolutely nothing, Mr Holmes. I'm starting to think you might be faking sick."

"No!" Sherlock cries, leaning up and looking at John with his glazed-over eyes. "Inside! I-it's inside me, the pain, it must be! You need to check inside of me!"

John plays stupid. "Inside where?"

"Inside my ass, my hole," Sherlock says exasperatedly, reaching down to spread his asshole wide open, wincing slightly at the pain upon his reddening bottom.

"Ah," John says, taking one of his fingers and sliding them easily inside of Sherlock, toying around inside of him, "I see."

"Well, perhaps this is the problem after all," John partly convinces himself. He pulls his finger out before inserting his middle alongside it again, methodically thrusting in and out with them, hardly moving at all otherwise.

Hearing Sherlock's whiny grumbling from above, John asks, "Is something wrong, Mr Holmes? I've not found anything thus far."

"You have to move more!" Sherlock yells, "You have to spread your fingers and scissor them, find my prostate like you _ obviously _could before and touch it!"

"Hmph." John seems unimpressed.

"Ah, p-please, Dr Watson."

"Alright," the physician sighs, _ "fine." _

And so he spreads his two fingers as far apart as he's able, withdrawing them so he does the same to the tight ring of muscle of Sherlock's anus, making him wince again in pain as the still-healing flesh is distorted wide. John isn't a massive sadist, though, so he elects to go deeper inside of him and give him some pleasure after all, immediately finding that fat bundle of nerves which sets Sherlock's skin on fire, stroking it in a come hither motion and occasionally thrusting right against it, making Sherlock call out before him.

He draws yet another finger inside, playing with his insides for some time until Sherlock is a leaking mess once again, waiting until his toes curl and his hands grip the armrests till they're white to deprive him of pleasure all at once yet again.

Rising, John ignores his patient's obvious irritation to go to the wooden table and grab from it the metal speculum, returning to Sherlock's side once more.

"This is a speculum, I'm sure you know." A nod. "I'm going to look inside of you now and see if there's truly anything wrong."

He inserts the tapered end of the speculum into Sherlock's hole, the instrument slowly widening out until it finally bottoms out. He squeezes on the handle of the speculum, watching as the parts inside of Sherlock stretch slowly until they meet their maximum capacity, widening him enough that John can easily see down his hole until the curve of his rectum goes to his sigmoid colon, disappearing out of view. He's dripping wet with lube from top to bottom, left to right, puddles of liquid resting on the bottom of his organs here and there. His intestines are stretched near their maximum, hole looking ridiculous as it's gaped as wide as a fist and framed by the metal of the instrument.

"Hm," John says, hearing the excited whimpers from his patient, watching his thighs quiver before him, "are you getting aroused by this, perhaps, Mr Holmes? I'll have you know that this is just a standard medical procedure, absolutely nothing to get excited about." He tuts his tongue. "How improper."

"I-I'm very sorry, Dr W-Watson. It just hurts, still, this makes it feel better, but, the pain, it's becoming too much again."

John watches his rosy insides twitch and move with every breath, trying to burn the image into his memory for later use, perhaps.

"I need something… else, I think," his ever-annoying patient murmurs, now playing with his nipples when John looks up at him. The cold going inside of his hole is beginning to get to him, flagging his erection.

The doctor loosens the speculum, sliding it out smoothly. "And what exactly could you possibly require now? There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, sir." Aggravation begins to flood his tone, about done with this session and ready to charge his client a hefty fee for wasting his time.

"Please, I need some other tool, something bigger, deeper, more solid, to really relieve the pain deep inside."

John looks about the room hopelessly, eyeing every tool in his arsenal but seeing nothing which could fit that description. "I'm afraid you're out of luck, Mr Holmes–"

"Your cock!" Sherlock shouts, reaching his hand out for the obvious erection which his doctor has been having for minutes now, now talk about _ improper. _

"Excuse me?"

"Please, Doctor, I'm sure now, I know it's the only way to relieve my symptoms! Just fuck me with it, please!" He grabs his thighs, clawing in his skin enough to leave superficial marks upon it.

John shakes his head stubbornly. There was no way he was going to ruin his entire career for this little slut. "I'm sorry, Mr H–"

"Fuck me! Please, please, please, fuck me, John–er, Dr Watson!" He spreads his legs even further, spit drooling from his lips and leaving them glossy as he looks to John with pure depravity. "Fuck me, hard, please! I _ need _ it, Doctor! Oh, it hurts _ so bad!" _

The doctor groans, finally undoing his belt in record time to free his straining cock which he thought was about to burst with the unattended need within it, stroking his cock with his gloved hand still slightly wet with lube, feeling his veins surge as he almost cums from just a couple motions up and down his length.

He seethes through his teeth to stop himself, sitting at the end of the chair to lean over Sherlock and fuck his cock into his gaping hole, finally feeling some actual pleasure himself after all that damn teasing.

He fucks into Sherlock hard, feeling him wrap his arms around his tense back tight enough to nearly break bone, his hole spasming as though in euphoria at finally having something to fill it to its needs.

"Ah, fuck, Sherlock," John pants, thrusting as hard and fast as he can while still going from cockhead all the way to balls on most thrusts, one hand propping himself up and the other reaching down to stroke Sherlock's thigh, moving to grip his ass which is thoroughly soaked in various fluids by now.

They draw close to cumming quickly, what with all the endless teasing of before, Sherlock's whimpers and moans becoming screams as his prostate is rammed relentlessly, cock frotting between the cloth of John's shirt and the skin of his bare stomach.

John's fingers roam Sherlock's ass the entire way there, clawing into his cheek and running through the mess of liquids building beneath his hole, before they finally wrap around the base of his thigh in a grip certain to bruise as he finally cums, ejaculating balls deep inside of Sherlock.

Sherlock feels the hot cum as it spurts inside him, the pulsating of John's balls and his cock twitching inside him, and orgasms almost immediately after, pressing John's head to his neck as he finally, _ finally, _reaches the sweet bliss of climax. "J-John," he squeaks out.

They lay there in silence other than their spent breaths for a minute or two, living out the wonder of after-sex as they slowly come back to reality.

John feels suddenly clammy with sweat, clothes sticking to his back, and accepts bittersweetly that he must pull out from Sherlock. Sherlock makes a weak noise of complaint but otherwise lies there, now _ really _ feeling the soreness of his red ass after all that constant manhandling and hard thrusting, a little lake of creamy fluids pooled around his butt probably ruining the chair.

"Ah, how-how was that?" The physician asks, sliding over to the edge of the chair as he fixes his dishevelled clothes.

"Well, I certainly feel better," Sherlock mumbles, deeper voice sounding a lot more like himself and less like that delirious creature a moment before. "But I might come down with another illness, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, but certainly sometime this week."

John laughs. "You know, I really thought you were sick for a good while there."

Sherlock chuckles. "Of course. It's just a matter of convincing oneself enough that they themselves believe it. I am a very good actor, you know."

"Oh," John says, leaning down to bestow a kiss upon Sherlock's cool forehead, "I do believe that."

Suddenly, Sherlock sneezes, John having just pulled back enough to not get a concussion.

"Oh," Sherlock frowns, "I guess I might be a bit _ too _ convincing of an actor for my own self!"

John grins. "Well, it's a good thing I am an _ actual _ doctor, as well."

**Author's Note:**

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